New Ulm weekly review., 1887-12-21
HE WHITE deer,
A Christmas Story.
BY PAUL PAsTNOR.

4 : = AAAAANo
The day before Christmas dawned
on a world arrayed in dim vestal
garment Of white so thin that the
brown blades of grass, alfcovered by
the snow. shivered in the morning air.
and the withered leaves that had been
sheaped here and there in hollows and
corners rustled and complained for
more OF heavens downy blankets,
old ID Tom Campbell was stirring early.
He had made. up his mind that if the
weather held right, he would try for a
aittle venison for the Christmas feast.
The days had passed so swiftly that
he hardly realized how near the holi-
day was until it was close at hand.
There was but one day left-but it
was glorious day for deer! Snow
5ust two days old a mere film OF it in
the woods, not enough to craunch be-
meath the feet or impede the hunters
progress, and yet quite enough to
n track the wary game; still day-the
hunters scent would not travel far; q
day neither too cold nor too warm,
too dry nor too damp; in short, a
most perfect day for still hunting the
lordly buck and the fat doe, in the
mountains back OF the village.
There were two places in the round
world that old Tom could call
home; one his own bit of cabin on
the hillside, which he had built with
his unaided hands forty years
ago when the country was new,
and the other the pretty cot
tage OF his youngest daugh-
ter's husband, in the village. 1t was
for,the latter and merrler home that
the old man wished to secure the un-
expected delicacy, juicy bit Of deer's
steak. to make the children smack
their lips and wonder and tease for
stories Of the olden time. Grandpa
and Grandma had been invited to
leave their little, quiet cabin on the
hillside and spend all the holiday week
WMittfhihe child rem, and Of course they
were1verjo yed at the thought oftthee5 5
ioll times they were to have It was I
eyeibetter than living with the noisy
brod all the year, asthey might have
doe had they chosen, for now there
:Ws always something to be looked
toward to-, every holiday sea-
S5Sn with ever new and
E flesh delight; and then, too,
II Grandfather and Grandmother Camp
bell, like all old people, enjoyed
gscomfortable quiet, except upon very
extraordinary occasions, when they
felt called upon to renew their youth.
The late winter sun had hardly
,peeped above the hills when old Tom,
fortified within, thanks to Dame Camp
Ii bells loving care, with steaming COT
Id fee, golden corn cake and potatoes,
fried only as our grandmothers can
i fry them, started on his days hunt
8 in the woods HIS rifle a relic OF ear
lier days, but still serviceable and true
to it's aim-had been carefully cleaned,
and still more carefully loaded, so
that the supreme moment it might
mot tail 20 do it's work. Looking,
sback just as he was entering the
woods at the top OF the slope, Tom
saw the smoke curling up from the
village chimneys, and heard the
rumbling OF wheels and the far-off
sounds which betokened the
Weakening OF a new days lite. He
could see the very cottage where the
loved ones were, perhaps just rubbing
their drowsy eyes with their dimpled
fists, and wondering whether the un-
wonted beating OF their hearts meant
= Christmas Day or only the day be-
fore. With last fond look he plung
Led into the woods, more eager than
ever to add to his cherished budget OF
Christmas gifts a contribution to the
Christmas feast.
He had tramped nearly all the
morning. and was beginning to get
both hungry and tired, when sudde
" he came upon the well-known prints
of deer's feet in the tell-tale snow. He
bent down and examined them. They
X were quite fresh; the deer could not
4 haye passed more than an hour be-
fore. In an instant old Tom was all
alert. Throwing his rifle from his
shoulder to the hollow OF
& his left arm, he began
cautiously following the trail, keeping
a careful lookout ahead, in readiness
\ to fire at the stirring OF a cover. or the
whisk of a branch. Like all old deer
hunters, he knew the shy and suspi-
.cious nature Of his game, and that
unless lie kept himself constantly on
the alert, the single chance he might
ihope for IN a days stalking would be
:irretrlevably lost.
The woods were as still as death, as
the old man crept along through the
.dusky aisles OF the trees. The mid
winter sleep ofnature seemed to have
descended upon all things and there
was an atmosphere almost Of the un-
real and supernatural brooding upon
the forest. No sound OF bird or sqnir-
rel, no rustic OF growing things. leaf or
1 nodding fern, no cstwing OF crows, Or